


G is for Georgia

by Rose_of_Pollux



Series: Around the World in 26 Days [7]
Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-13
Updated: 2017-06-13
Packaged: 2018-11-13 18:35:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11190951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rose_of_Pollux/pseuds/Rose_of_Pollux
Summary: In which Napoleon and Illya find an old mansion with a dark history.





	G is for Georgia

**Author's Note:**

> Cameo appearances from Lionheart and Kid from my "Moonlit Gulch Affair" and "Ghosts in the Night Affair" fics

Napoleon and Illya had been clearing up the THRUSH satrap they had just cleared out; the THRUSHies had taken over an abandoned, old mansion down in Georgia and had used it for storing armaments. With the THRUSHies gone, it was up to Napoleon and Illya to confiscate the equipment, and then, depending on whether or not they could find the owner of the mansion, destroy it.

Illya was more than willing to level the place, but it was Napoleon who pointed out that the mansion was clearly over a century old, and that they should try to make an effort to see who owned it.

“We have been searching for hours, Napoleon,” Illya protested. “And we have found no records of who this place could have belonged to. The house appears to have been _abandoned_ for a hundred years—if no one has claimed it since then, I feel that no one will care if it is demolished or not. Look at the state of its disrepair! It is likely to collapse on its own, Napoleon; demolishing it would be putting it out of its misery!”

“I think you may be right,” Napoleon sighed. “These old places are full of secret passageways, and THRUSH could have hidden more nasty surprises in them. We don’t have the time to search for them, and we can’t leave anything behind for THRUSH to try to salvage, either. I just need a confirmation that no one has a claim on this place--” He paused as his communicator whistled. “And this might be it. George?”

“Hey, Napoleon, I got in touch with the local records office like you asked,” George said. “And it turns out that Illya is right—there is no claim on that old place, and no one’s claimed it in a hundred years.”

Illya smirked in approval.

“So, I can explode everything?”

“Sure; go for it,” George said. “No one’s going to sue you, and there doesn’t seem to be anything of value in there. The place has a dark history, according to the records—most of those old mansions do. Some old coot of the Monroe family owned it. Just before the Civil War, his only child, a son, ran away at the age of 14, and the man lost his fortune during the war. He left after the war to try to find the runaway son—nothing else is known. Neither he nor the son came back to reclaim the house, and no one wanted anything to do with it.”

“Sounds like the makings of a movie,” Napoleon kidded, as he wandered from room to room, making sure they hadn’t missed anything obvious. He froze as he found himself staring at an old steamer trunk. Napoleon didn’t know why, but the sight of the steamer trunk sent a chill down his spine.

“Doesn’t it, though?” George was saying. “Some sort of ghost story, right? Napoleon? Hey, Napoleon?”

“Huh?” Napoleon asked, coming out of it. “Oh, yeah. Well, we’ll do one last sweep of the place and be on our way back to New York.”

“OK, see you guys soon!”

George signed off, and Napoleon continued to stare at the steamer trunk with an unexplainable, intense dislike until he heard Illya frantically calling for him.

“Napoleon!? _Napoleon_!?”

“What is it?” Napoleon asked, hurrying back to him.

Illya was staring at a portrait on the wall; he had just moved a large piece of THRUSH machinery that had been hiding it from view.

“…George said that the son who ran away was 14?”

“Yeah, why?”

“…Why does this portrait of a 14-year-old boy look remarkably like how you did at that age?” Illya inquired.

Napoleon was about to protest that there was no way he could resemble a portrait that was over a hundred years old—that was, until he actually took a look at it and had to admit that the young teen in the portrait could have easily been a portrait made from one of his old pictures.

It was a moment later that the light bulb went off over his head.

“Illya…” he said. “That spirit—the one who looks and sounds just like me, but from the Old West… Didn’t he say that he was from Georgia?”

“…Are you seriously suggesting…?”

“Well, if you’ve got any other ideas…”

“ _Nyet_ , I do not.”

Napoleon shook his head.

“Then let’s finish up and raze everything,” he said.

“Even the portrait?”

“…Ok, save that.”

And as the duo went about making the preparations for the demolition, another duo, unseen to mortal eyes, watched them go at it.

“Good riddance,” the spirit who resembled Napoleon muttered. “Finally glad to see this place go.”

“How appropriate, then, that our… counterparts here are the ones to demolish it?” the other spirit replied, his voice an accent-less echo of Illya’s, though his face matched perfectly.

The first spirit nodded, and the two of them watched the fireworks in approval as Napoleon and Illya also did so from afar.


End file.
